


Gemini Mortis

by Darkness_Rising



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-25 19:06:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/642048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkness_Rising/pseuds/Darkness_Rising
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twin Angels of Death have come to claim the spark of the Autobot medic, but not entirely in the manner that they are meant to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gemini Mortis

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted August 2012 for Livejournal's twins_x_ratch comm. Wrench of Inspiration #20 Song Prompt, Oh Death by Jen Titus.
> 
> In this verse, as generally depicted in various verses, Primus creates life and Unicron takes it, but they do not represent heaven or hell here; the good do not return to Primus and vice versa for the bad. Essentially the idea here is that all Cybertronian sparks are born of Primus and when they die, they are reaped by the Angels of Death sent by Unicron, therefore Unicron represents the Well of Sparks.

_~ Twin Bond ~_  
**Song Lyrics**  
_**Cybertronian Verse**_ (penned by me)  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Oh Death, оh Death, oh Death,  
Won't you spare me over ‘til another year**

**But what is this, that I can’t see  
with ice cold hands taking hold of me**

**When God is gone and the Devil takes hold,  
who will have mercy on your soul**

**Oh Death, оh Death, oh Death**

Ratchet was suddenly brought out of his fitful recharge and blinking on his optics he warily looked around his office while optical sensors came back into focus, not quite sure what he was looking for. Every part of his frame ached and not for the first time he thought that he really should stop falling into recharge whilst sat in his chair.

Grumbling quietly to himself he wondered what had disturbed him. The monitor in front of him told him that all patients in his med bay were either deep in recharge or safely in stasis while their frames healed, so what the Pit had woken him from recharge?

Trying to rise from his seat the medic winced as pain flared through his sensory net, halting his movement. Despite the pain that travelled through his frame he noticed that it was not nearly as piercing as it had been before he had inadvertently cycled down, and he thought that maybe his self-repair system had had the chance to kick in whilst he was out of it. Except Ratchet knew that this was not the case, knew that the injury he had sustained was far too much for any mechs self-repair system and although First Aid had insisted on treating Ratchet, the CMO refused his help point blank, commanding that he was not to receive any medical care until all other mechs had been treated.

The hit out there had been hard this solar-cycle, their need to save every mech that they could their priority; the war was taking its toll on the Autobot numbers, the same could also be said for the Decepticon numbers too, yet in spite of dwindling forces there was no hint of a cease fire between the two factions. So many lives had been lost, their species all but desecrated but the fight still continued and the fight in the med bay was just as fraught as out in the battle field, it had been a constant race against time and each time they had stabilised one mech, another’s stats fell off the charts.

As far as Ratchet was concerned he was very low on the list of priorities and not even his Prime could command him to take his treatment as Optimus was one of his patients, and had been in no condition to command anything.

Ratchet lifted his armour gently to assess the extent of his damage, it was bad. In fact, it was a gaping hole in his protoform bad. Whatever device had been used penetrated his armour and exploded as it impacted with his protoform, the damage on the outside masking the mutilation on the inside. Plating had disintegrated, wiring melded together and a large energon line had been torn, and although Ratchet had carried out a quick patch repair job on himself in order to slow the loss of energon the bindings were now soaked through, energon seeping into his internals.

His HUD flashed up warnings now that he was out of recharge, warnings of decreased cognitive function after wires had continued to corrode during his down time. Low energon levels also flashed, cautioning that even his emergency reserves had all but been depleted, and every time he moved his sensory net flared even though there was now a dull edge to the pain. In a word, his systems were slowly shutting down so yes, in hindsight, the most illustrious Cybertronian medi-bot conceded that just maybe, he should have taken First Aid’s medical assistance.

Well there was nothing he could do about it now, he would just have to refuel and call First Aid to come and help him, but first he wanted to know what had disturbed him.

As he looked around the office his optics unexpectedly landed on four midnight blue orbs that glinted strangely in the shadowed corner. They momentarily stayed where they were, as though watching him, before one pair moved eerily through the blanket of darkness towards the medic until the shadows revealed a frame of the deepest crimson accentuated with snowy white and jet black plating. The frame movements were fluid, almost teasing as the mischievous looking being moved closer to its target.

Ratchet blinked his optics on and off several times in order to clear what he believed to be a figment of his imagination, but the presence pressed ever closer, taking time to move across the small expanse of the office. The second pair of orbs flashed in the shadows, distracting Ratchet from the form in front of him and the medic was really beginning to regret not having sought medical assistance immediately as clearly, the massive loss of energon was having an effect on his processor.

Despite what was happening Ratchet felt serene, the fact that there could actually be two strange beings in the room with him not panicking him as it should do, not when there was an odd familiarity to them; a faint recognition of the energy that emanated from them. His optics were now locked back onto those of the first of the two, and as the presence loomed over his seated frame Ratchet found himself in awe of the beauty that cast its shadow over him. Shifting in his seat slightly, a jolt of pain shot through his systems and once again the sensation was a fraction duller than even moments ago, almost as if it was slowly being soothed away.

“We meet at last.” The Crimson being’s tone was playful, a smirk creasing the corners of his mouth. “We’ve been watching you a very long time.”

“Is that so, stranger?” Ratchet intoned; his demeanour stoic, steady, despite his discomfort.

A response came from the shadows, the vocals rumbling and low. “That is so, medic.”

Dull pain rippled through Ratchet’s protoform as he suppressed the shudder the disembodied vocals elicited from him.

The smirk on the face already in front of him quirked a little higher, the dark optics brightening for a moment before settling back into their not quite black hue, and once Ratchet looked deeply into the mesmerising orbs he found he could not tear himself away from them, trapped by their sheer intensity.

The Autobot missed when the second being made his move but suddenly a ruddy gold frame stood alongside its crimson equal, finally breaking the thrall the first had on the medic. Small amounts of the same jet black adorned lower arms, but what drew Ratchet’s attention was the black helm with fins that framed a face that should never have been that beautiful. Ratchet gasped and the golden being's lips twitched at the reaction.

The crimson mech spoke again. “Meet my twin!”

Ratchet’s optics jumped from one face to the other and back again, the similarity was unquestionable. Their optics were identical pools of deep thoughts and feelings, their faceplates, although similar, had subtle differences which identified their individuality, the slant of their noses, the angle of their chins. Lips mimicked each other in shape and smirk. Their frames were of similar ilk, only slight deviations in the comparable designs, but the most striking differences were their helms and frame colour.

One bore the crimson hue of the human blood the medic had seen spilt when back on Earth; a colour full of welcoming warmth, enticing to the optic and attractive to distraction, but within the warmth there were underlying forewarnings of danger. His jet black helm, the plainer of the two, was flanked by a pair of blunt horns.

The other was as golden as the sun; a colour that all should be beware of as you may seek out its heat, its energy, but its wrath was second to none. His helm was more exotic than his brother’s, crowned by two fins in place of the other’s horns, the matching jet plating laced with the same golden tint that adorned his frame.

The medic found his spark drawn to them in a way he had never felt before and he seemed to have very little control over the matter. He was exhausted through loss of energon as well as fighting against the never ending relay of warning alarms threatening him with stasis at the very least, so controlling the swirl of his spark was the least of his worries.

Despite the stance of the twins, the mischievous quirking of matching lips and the almost sensual pose of their frames, there was a somewhat feral air that surrounded the two who stood before him, their cool demeanours clearly hiding the untamed energy within them; yet a yearning rolled off them. A yearning for what, Ratchet was unsure of, all he knew was that an urge to reach out to them was welling up inside him, and he didn't think he was strong enough to resist.

 

**No wealth, no ruin, no silver, no gold  
Nothing satisfies me but your soul**

**Oh, Death,**

**Well I am Death, none can excel,  
I'll open the door to heaven or hell.**

**Oh, Death, оh Death,**

**my name is Death and the end is here...**

 

In a dark recess they waited, biding their time. They had watched this mech for more stellar-cycles than they cared to remember, wanting to get close but not willing to take him quite yet; not before his time was due. Had it not been for this war then his time may never have come at all, but nothing on this planet was as it once was, everything the mechanical inhabitants had known was gone, and all they had been left with was their fight for survival.

Time and time again they waited in the wings to claim a life that was destined to be theirs, only to be denied their prize when this medic would do the impossible, saving the very spark they were waiting to reap. In the beginning they very nearly unleashed their wrath on the medic who thwarted their endeavours, but as time passed, as they watched his dedication to saving and protecting the very essence of his patients, they could only watch on in awe.

In watching they discovered that this mech with a gruff composure, prone to a hash word or two, hid a compassionate spark that hurt so easily. This very spark had captured the attention of the twins but not in the way that it should have, and they found themselves shielding it, preserving it, going against the ideals of their very existence to anonymously defend it.

But now it was time, time for the Heralds of Death to stake their claim and both had waited in eternal anticipation for this moment, yet neither were willing to rush it. They could have taken him in his recharge, they should have taken him, but their desire to spend time with him overwhelmed their objective. Interaction with the living only occurred when the victim’s time was nigh, the final dying moments between being alive and dead, and these were the moments the dark twins had longed for over the millennia. These beings whose sparks beat in unison, whose sparks beat not full of life but with the darkness that shadowed them, yearned for the mech they held in their gaze.

There was not a part of their victim’s spark they did not know; they had studied him like no other had studied another. They had created their own little world where only he and they existed, somewhere they could protect him, woo him, offer their sparks to him. How they felt went against everything they stood for. They did not preserve life or encourage it, they metaphorically feasted on the sparks of beings whose lives were cut short by war, yet here they were, reluctant to take the very life that was laid before them.

They had been patient for so long but as they stood shrouded in darkness they shifted on their pedes, willing the medic to un-shutter his optics so that they could at last look into them, optic to optic. Their movements, though minute, echoed through the silence of the office and the mech they had come for finally came out of recharge with a jolt.

They watched intently as azure optics blinked on, focusing in the surrounding darkness as they darted around, no doubt looking for what had disturbed the medic's recharge. They saw the pain in the pale grey face plates as Ratchet shifted his frame in his chair, stilling his movements for a few moments before inspecting his injuries. Finally he looked around his office again until his gaze landed on his uninvited guests.

The twins froze as optics still dark with recharge focused on theirs, their frames hidden within the shadowy veil of the darkened room. The moment had finally arrived, the moment when Ratchet would at last see them, at last meet his shadows and a thrill ran through their frames as the medic’s optics bore into theirs, and for the first time in this dark existence they felt their dark souls were laid out bare.

The crimson being made his move first, sauntering out of the crevice that shielded them as he made his way towards their victim. With the exception of blinking off and on several times, there was no fear to be seen in the optics that looked back at him, no hesitation in following his movements. It was only when the medic was distracted by the stranger's companion that this being lost Ratchet's attention, however it was soon back on him as he moved ever closer.

Already curved lips quirked into a smirk before the otherworldly being spoke. “We meet at last.” his words almost teased. “We’ve been watching you a very long time.”

Ratchet narrowed his optics at them. If he felt anything about that statement he didn't show it; instead he asked in an undecipherable tone, “is that so, stranger?”

It was not quite the response the visitor expected, and whilat trying to read Ratchet’s impassive face his still hidden counterpart responded, “that is so, medic!”

Neither of the two missed the shudder of white plating in response, the smirk of the bolder of the two beings playing further along his lips as he caught Ratchet’s attention again.

A golden frame now moved out from the shadows, slender like the first and fluid movements brought him to the side of his companion, startling Ratchet by his appearance. Ratchet’s attention was now back on him, drinking in his frame and as optics roved around his face, a gentle gasp left their intended victim. A second set of lips now smirked at the medic's reaction, he expected nothing less but deep inside he was relieved. The weakened mech could have easily shunned them, could still shun them even if they did have the upper servo, but it still pleased the pair that their presence did not send him running.

It was possible that Ratchet did not understand the implication of their presence, although the pair didn't believe that for a moment; you didn't live as long as the medic had, see and do all that he saw and did, and not know when your time was up. They conceded that he could just be resigned to his fate but neither could deny the thrill that thus far, he had not rejected them.

The momentary silence was broken. “Meet my twin!”

The twins felt Ratchet’s optics roll over their frames, low energon, fatigue and pain darkening the normally vibrant azure pools of light. They flicked from one face to the other, taking in information, comparing them. The medic studied their lines, the contours of their frames as though to gauge their very existence.

To have his gaze upon on them like this stirred something deep inside of them, something just as uncontrolled as their life force, and as a liquid fire burned through their systems they knew that their sparks belonged to him. Of course, Unicron would have something to say about that, he had after all given them back their sparks; sparks now tainted by the Unmakers black desires, but this mech, a being who had done nothing but care for others and had forsaken his own needs, filled their black sparks with light.

 

_Heed our warning for when they come; you’ll never get the chance to hide or run.  
From the Unmaker they descend; to catch a glimpse will mean your end._

_With sparks like ice, the air as chill; you’ll surrender to them against your will.  
When darkness falls and they become your light; then you know you’ve lost the fight._

_When your time is nigh this warning hark; they’ll gently steal your beating spark.  
A flash of crimson, a streak of gold; they’ll leave your frame grey and cold._

_They’ll never love, they’ll never care; they’ll never find a spark to spare.  
And as you take your final breath; your soul will belong to the Twins of Death!_

 

Ratchet was completely beguiled with the two beings who stood before him. The darkness they represented sprang forth from them but at the same time there was a desire to be something different. Finally the medic found his vocaliser, his failing systems causing him to rasp.

“So the Spawn of Unicron has come to deliver me to the Unmaker himself!”

The twin gazes faltered. They had been called many things, had heard all the designations that had been applied to them; Angels of Death, Harbingers of Doom, Hellions, Twins of Death, Evil Incarnate and even the Unmaker himself, as some believed them to be the be all and end all.

Spawn of Unicron was also amongst those many designations, however, they were not Unicron’s progeny for they had not been born of him, had not been created from his coding.

Angels of Death were the very creations of the Unmaker, his only creations, but not the twins. Not Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. Once they had lived a life amongst the Cybertronian race. Once they had dreams, hopes and fears, but fate had not been on their side. They had been sold as slaves, eventually ending up in the gladiatorial rings, and as the stellar cycles wore on their personalities changed, they became dark entities fighting for their lives.

Then just as cruelly as they took the lives of their opponents theirs were snatched from them. Not in a gladiatorial fight, not defending themselves, but in a bitter feud that was fought over them. An ownership deal that had gone awry and the new bidder for their lives decided that if he could not own them, then no one else would either.

Unicron, like Primus, watched the inhabitants of the metallic planet, biding his time. But unlike his brother who created life, Unicron took it, and although Cybertronian lifespans were long, spanning millennia’s beyond comprehension and only losing their lives if another took it, the Unmaker was patient. He knew there was a war brewing and he would be ready to garner the lost sparks when all hell broke loose.

Upon the demise of the twins the dark Angels of Death sent to claim them presented their sparks to the Unmaker, Unicron’s own black spark reaching out to them as though they were a part of him, and the pair who had become feared amongst their kin became revered amongst the dark entities that skulked in the shadows as they did Unicron's bidding.

In return, Unicron gave them back their Cybertronian forms but they could not live amongst their kind, their sparks now so dark that any living beings who caught a glimpse of them would shrink away in fear. Before long they realised that even now, in their death, they were little more than the slaves they had always been; mere pawns in the Unmakers plans. But they had very little choice in what they did so they embraced death and became the most feared amongst the living, no one ever daring to utter their designations, believing that doing so would bring their ultimate doom.

Yet all they craved, all they had ever craved, was peace, love. They sought what had eluded them throughout the eons of their lives, both in life and death; the gentle touch of another, a kind word, a look of desire. It was not until they had encountered Ratchet that this desire had been reawakened in them, after they overcame their wish to claim the life of the mech who had unknowingly thwarted them time and time again, and feelings they were not aware that existed within them were conjured up, seeping through their very being.

Abruptly the twins were roused from their reverie.

“I’m not in the mood to be toyed with!” Ratchet snapped, surprising himself at the sudden burst of energy within him “Let’s get this over with.”

The smile on the two faces watching the medic disappeared and the crimson hellion spoke on their behalf, hiding their disappointment. “You know why we are here!?” Sideswipe knew the answer but his desire to be so much more than death to this mech bubbled deep inside him, the sentiment echoed across the bond he shared with his twin.

 _~ We were foolish to believe he would think anything else of us, after all, is that not why we are here, to claim his spark. ~_ The golden twin’s optics never left Ratchets own, he feared that if he lost their hold then he would not regain it.

Crimson shoulders shifted in an almost invisible shrug. _~ There is more than one way to claim a spark, Sunstreaker. ~_

Faint desolation bled through from Sunstreaker, his once smirking lips slowly turning downwards. _~ Not for us there isn’t, HE made sure of that! ~_ Sunstreaker's disdain for the Unmaker coursed through their bond. _~ We are never meant to be admired by the living… ~_

Sunstreaker was cut off by his twin. _~ Nothing’s changed over the millennia, it was always this way, but that never stopped us from wanting, waiting, so why do you hesitate Now? ~_

_~ Because before it was only a desire but now, now he can reject us Sideswipe. ~_

Momentarily forgetting that their every move, their every impulse was being scrutinised by the mech they came to claim, Sideswipe snorted in response. _~ He can’t reject us Sunstreaker, there is no going back. Maybe if he had sought help sooner he would be okay now, but he didn’t, he is destined to be with us. ~_

Optics shuttered slightly as Sunstreaker fought his emotions, not even before their own lives had been snatched from them had he craved the company of anyone other than his twin, yet he felt he would tear his blackened spark out of his very chest if Ratchet rejected his feelings, their feelings.

Facing his portends of death, Ratchet growled. “What do you find so funny?”

Sideswipe blinked in confusion before realising that Ratchet had picked up on his snorted response, and quickly he retorted. “That you, a medic esteemed by all who know him, should die of lack of…medical assistance.”

Even as the words left his lips the crimson twin cringed, Sunstreaker symbolically kicking him through their bond. _~ Way to endear him you glitch! ~_

Sideswipe had the decency to look chastised.

A sudden burst of laughter mixed with static pierced the silent air and optics grew wide at the scene in front of them. The twins glanced at each other before looking back at their intended, laughter racking his damaged frame. Never before had they elicited this response from anyone. There were those who accepted their fate in silence and others who begged to be spared, sobbing at their pedes, but never had they heard laughter from one about to lose their life.

Finally pain curtailed Ratchet's laughter, his vents hitching as his sensors flared with discomfort, and although the sounds died back into the silence the mirth stayed in the medic's optics as he looked at Sideswipe. “If you could see your face. Who’d have thought an Angel of Death could look like a kicked turbo-pup? Have you not heard the verse of old?” Ratchet began to recite one of the verses. “They’ll never love, they’ll never care...”

“We know how it goes.” Sunstreaker interjected, not intending to be quite so sharp but there were only so many times you could hear those words without them becoming…irritating. “Do you believe everything you hear?”

Mixed emotions flared between the two; ire at being mocked, at not being taken seriously but the side of them that had become entrapped by the thrall of this mech, yearned for him even more. The fact that he did not fear them felt like some sort of acceptance of whom they were, and as small as that acceptance was they were going to grab at it with both servos.

Ratchet blinked at Sunstreaker. “Oh, so which part is not true?”

Dark optics narrowed at the medic, a snappy retort at the end of his glossa and this time it was Sideswipe's turn to rebuke his brother. _~ Sunny, calm down. This is not how we planned it. ~_

Quickly, Sunstreaker's rising annoyance receded; they had waited too long for this moment to mess it up.

Expectant optics watched them, waiting for an answer to the question that still hung in the air. Of course the verse was true, they were Death, their very existence was to claim sparks, but that didn't mean they were emotionless. It was also true that an Angel of Death never felt, never cared, as to do so would hinder their task, but the twins were not born of Unicron and despite the blackness of their sparks, a little of their former existence still beat deep inside them; not the part of them who they became after stellar-cycles of fighting in the Pits, but the part of them that once carried the same dreams as those around them.

“Well?” Ratchet was intrigued at what the two had to say. The verse of old had followed him around during this war, as though it were the anthem to his life, ringing in his audials each time he lost a life, and now the very beings from that chorale were here, ready to take him to the Unmaker and thus far, all was not how he imagined it to be.

Legend dictated that to see these two would seal ones fate and although that may be, so far he was still alive. This same lore also told of how the Twins of Death were cold, unfeeling, yet the emotion that bled from the two before him was undeniable. That earlier pull on Ratchet’s spark became evident to him again and it was responding to some unknown, but recognised connection between them. It was as though his spark had finally found what it had been searching for, and mixed with what was an unnervingly familiar energy, Ratchet could feel himself falling.

Part of him believed that everything he was experiencing was a hallucination, a result of his slowly dying systems, but the emotion in his spark was very real. Maybe it was the idea that he could finally find rest and peace in his life, something that had eluded him since the start of the war. Eons had passed and the war had never relented, never giving the Cybertronians time to take a moment to vent. They had all become mere machines, both factions apparently fighting for freedom but whatever drove these feelings in his spark, the medic knew he had very little control over, the urge to succumb overwhelming him.

Ratchet missed the moment the small space left between him and the twins had been closed as suddenly, black and gold servos touched his frame, soothing the dull pain. The servos that calmed him urged him to rise and he found himself trapped between the two strong and sleek frames, the energy rolling off them making them unexpectedly warm to the touch, and as their plating pressed against his own he could feel himself weakening in their hold.

Digits slowly danced along seams and wires, speaking of an illicit love. They were never meant to love, never meant to care, yet it was all they ever wanted. The twins knew that they would have to face Unicron’s wrath, that they risked being outcast into purgatory, but despite the coldness which drove them, in spite of the chill that followed them, they could no longer deny what their sparks craved. Ratchet had become a life line that they would cling to as though their very existence depended on it.

The injured medic’s world became a haze of dizzying light as servos explored his frame, mapping out lines and angles, and as he became lost in a mire of sensations his spark beat erratically in its chamber, fighting to burst free. Ratchet no longer felt any pain, just a hunger for the twins, a hunger which taunted him, and when he felt he could not take any more of their touches, lips crashed down on his own.

Oblivious to whom of the two the lips belonged to, while at the same time, sure he had been kissed by both, Ratchet felt his incoherent thoughts fade into nothing as his chest plates cracked open, revealing the opulent blue light within.

Sideswipe gasped as the light bathed his twin, never before had anyone willingly bared their spark to them. As gladiators, they had torn at the plating and crystals that protected the their opponents life energy as they extinguished that vibrant light, and now, as Angels of Death, their mere presence could coax the spark of life from its sanctuary, but to be presented with a spark in this manner filled their own sparks with the very light that eluded them and as everything the three were, everything the three knew came crashing down around them, they united as one.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

First Aid’s first task on returning to the med bay was to check the stats of the patients there. One or two were in stasis while others were in recharge, allowing their frames to recover from the effects of their injuries and repairs.

Once the young medic had finished his rounds he mused at how odd it was that Ratchet was not already here, bustling around. Glancing over to the office door, darkness clouded the window but First Aid would put credits on the fact that Ratchet could be found recharging in there; the CMO had a habit of falling into exhausted recharge whilst sat at his desk.

He knew that he would probably receive a torrent of abuse for disturbing the cranky mech but there were Autobots to be woken from stasis and despite First Aids capabilities, Ratchet liked to be the one to carry out this task so that he could assess any unseen damage. Arriving at the office door the Protectobot knocked tentatively, almost afraid to disturb the CMO, but when his knock was met with silence he rapped a little harder.

When still no response came the young mech tried the control panel, the door instantly sliding open. Slowly stepping into the dark room First Aid allowed his optics to adjust to the darkness instead of commanding the lights on; Ratchet would be pissed if he was rudely woken by the sudden light. Looking around the organised office visored optics finally landed on the dark form sat in the CMO’s chair and as sensors focused on the frame before him, First Aid's vents hitched before he ran back through to the med bay.

Opening a comm. link to Wheeljack and Ironhide, the young medic requested their immediate presence in the med bay before he made his way to the berth where Optimus Prime peacefully recharged. Shaking his leader’s massive shoulders First Aid gently lulled the blue and red mech from his slumber.

Groggy optics blinked back on and registering the view of the med bay ceiling above him the Prime vented deeply, recalling the joors leading up to his incarceration within the med bay. Before having time to assess his medical status Optimus was met by an agitated First Aid, concern shining from the Commander's optics as he watched the young medic fidget in front of him.

“What is it First Aid?” His deep tone stilling the smaller mech's movements.

First Aid didn't know where to start. “It’s…I…oh Sir…” Before he could get any further Wheeljack and Ironhide clattered into the med bay.

“Wha’ has you spooked young Aid?” Ironhide intoned, Wheeljack stood expectantly beside him, helm fins flashing a dark blue at his own concern at being summoned to the med bay.

The Protectobot was lost for words. These were Ratchet’s oldest and closest friends here and suddenly he felt very small in their presence. The words he needed would not form in his vocaliser and helplessly, all he found that he could do was look over to the open door that led to the CMO’s darkened office. The three mechs followed First Aid’s glance before their own optics fleetingly turned on each other.

Ironhide led the small group into the dark office, followed by their Prime, Wheeljack and finally First Aid. Focusing on Ratchet’s chair the red and grey mech's instantly spark broke when he saw the once pearlescent white frame with vibrant red accents, sat grey and cold.

“Oh Ratchet.” Ironhide murmured, sorrow scratching his vocals.

First Aid, thankful of his masked face, struggled to keep his emotions in check as he stammered. “I…I should’ve forced him to take medical help. He…he told me he was okay, he looked okay but I should have…”

Optimus turned to the distraught mech, placing a large servo on a small shoulder. “This is _not_ your fault First Aid. Ratchet never could take his own advice and none of us knew the extent of his injuries.”

Wheeljack moved closer to the lifeless frame, his grief completely unmasked. “I should have come to see him sooner. Since when have I ever listened to his demands to be left in peace?” As he spoke Wheeljack reached out to touch Ratchet's cheek, almost withdrawing his servo at the coldness. “Alone”. He whispered. “He died alone.”

These words hit the other three hard in their sparks. The mech who had fought against all the odds to keep the band of warriors alive had been left to face his fate alone. Wheeljack was right, in the past none of them had heeded Ratchet's warnings of potential reformatting, or disassembly, if they disturbed his peace, and the one time they should have intruded they had left him alone.

Tears that had pricked at the optics of all four mechs now fell freely. Never would there be another Ratchet. Never would there be a mech who, in spite of his acrid glossa and his nifty skill with a wrench, gave so selflessly to garner so little for himself in return; his reward to see lives continue to flourish. Not that Ratchet ever expected anything for his efforts, he was a medic and he saw it as his duty, but he was so much more than just a medic to the others, and Optimus, Ironhide and Wheeljack would miss his presence like none they had missed before.

The burly red weapons specialist scrubbed the back of his servo under his olfactory sensor before wiping at his tears. Turning to the others he composed himself before gruffly telling them, “we need to let the others know.” This was just Ironhide’s way, he was not completely alien to showing his inner feelings but he always kept this display of emotion short.

Optimus nodded silently at his soldier before turning his attention on Wheeljack. The Engineer had been closer to Ratchet than the rest of them combined. They had known each other before the war, studied at the same Academy and behaved like a pair of younglings when they got on the high grade together, and now Wheeljack looked completely lost. Shuttering his optics the Prime called his own grief into check. He would have his time to grieve for his old friend but for now, his mechs needed him.  
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Three unseen beings watched on silently as the four mechs grieved for Ratchet's passing.

Ratchet wanted to let them know that he had not been alone, that he was not alone now, but he could only watch as Wheeljack had broken down beside his prone frame while Ironhide busied himself with comforting the mechs he told. He also watched as First Aid buried himself in taking care of the rest of their patients, correction, First Aid’s patients, and finally he watched Optimus, his grief evident in his optics but as always, he was the pillar of strength the Autobots needed him to be.

He knew they would all survive without him, they didn't have a choice, but Ratchet would be lying if he said that it had not broken his spark to leave them behind. As his grief at his own loss washed over him twin energies soothed him, reminding him of their presence. The former medic soaked up their vitality and as he faded out of the lives of his fellow Autobots he turned to the two who had claimed his spark.

They were uncertain of what lay before them now, the twin Angels of Death no longer wishing to reap the sparks of the dying for they now had everything that they had ever desired right here, but no matter what happened, what anger Unicron would unleash on his Harbingers of Doom, for the first time in their existence, the twins truly felt nothing could touch them.

 

**~Fin~**

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End file.
